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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28871118">A Bird With Clipped Wings</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/beeboba/pseuds/beeboba'>beeboba</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, References to Depression, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, TommyInnit Angst (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:41:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,788</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28871118</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/beeboba/pseuds/beeboba</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which TommyInnit feels weighed down by his depression and Tubbo really wants to be there for his friend (even if Tommy doesn't want that.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Toby Smith | Tubbo &amp; TommyInnit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>96</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Bird With Clipped Wings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tommy can feel when things start to get bad again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It starts subtly with the tiredness. His body seemed to ache for sleep every time he had to do something. It didn't matter how much he slept, he was never left feeling refreshed. It's to a manageable extent, and he's grateful for that. If he wanted to, he could push past the drowsiness to record a video. He could disregard his want to just curl up in bed and ignore his responsibilities if it meant he could talk to a friend that day. He could ignore his overwhelming fatigue to put on his persona for a stream. He's never been good at getting to the source of his problems, he's only ever been good at avoiding them. He thinks that maybe, if he tries to act like himself, he'll start to feel normal again. So he ignores it when his brain tells him that it'd be better to just sleep his days away and that he's fighting an unwinnable battle.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>To be completely honest, he doesn't at all understand why things kept on getting worse for him. He likes to think he has everything anyone could ask for, so why did he feel this way? He has an amazing fanbase; almost five million people liked the content he was producing and they liked </span><em><span>him. </span></em><span>Not to mention that his friends were everything to him. They were always so supportive through everything he's done and he found that he really liked their company. It's just that he can feel the traces of doubt swim through his body leaving marks that seemed to prove his unworthiness compared to his peers. For every time he made a joke that nobody laughed at, he wonders if everyone found him annoying. For every time someone would make a comment directed at him, he feels like people hate him.</span> <span>He finds himself scrolling through Twitter, absorbing every bit of hate that he gets- he starts to believe them. He knows that he doesn't deserve his friends, that they don't need to deal with his problems on top of the ones they already have, so he doesn't tell them. He would quite like to maintain the image of himself in their eyes. He liked pretending that he was doing okay, he liked presenting himself as the same bright kid he's always been.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>The slightly bothersome tiredness he felt had morphed and changed into something more impossible. The days sauntered on and yet they seemed to move far too fast in his eyes. Tommy's heartbeat is painfully</span> <span>slow inside of his chest. He can almost feel the blood traveling through his body, going at a steady pace. It was a pleasant background to him studying the cracks on his wall. His mind, like the rest of his body, is numb. He craves the will to just get up and </span><em><span>do </span></em><span>something already but his body lays still. He feels as gloomy as the storm that violently poured; the impenetrable clouds held the promise of more rain. In a way, Tommy related to it. It wouldn't be long until lightning struck and he did something irrational to fight the overwhelming numbness that smothered him. His mind feels fuzzy when he opens his phone and has to swipe through notifications from his friends- concern laced through their words. The beginnings of tears formed by guilt burned his eyes before he blinked them away. He wanted nothing more than to message them back and tell him that he's okay as much as a lie that it would be. There's just this persistent thought in the back of his mind that tells him they wouldn't care. They don't want to deal with him and he knows that messaging would mean he'd have to explain his absence and he </span><em><span>really </span></em><span>didn't want to do that. He knows that they're owed an explanation but he doesn't even have one. He doesn't know why he doesn't want to get up in the morning, or why he hasn't recorded in over a month, or why he can't bring himself to talk to the very same people he used to find so much comfort in because nothing's wrong with him- at least, he wishes there wasn't. He locks his phone and stares back at the wall. He holds his hand to his wrist and allows himself to feel the blood pulse. He imagines red painting the inside of his eyelids when he closes his eyes to sleep. He imagines himself not caring if his pulse stopped.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>There's a sort of futile grief that comes with him knowing that it's getting worse, but not being able to do anything to stop it. It's been months since he's last talked to his friends, even longer since the last time he's uploaded. His room was a mess, dishes were scattered on his desk and dirty clothes cover his floor and he can't even remember the last time he's gotten up to shower. He can almost see everything he's worked for slip through his hands like sand, it didn't matter how tightly he tried to hold onto it. Maybe it'd be better if he just let go and let it happen. He hates that he let it get this bad, his friends didn't deserve him disappearing off the face of the Earth for months, neither did his fans. Tommy thinks that if he was a bird, his wings would be clipped. He's sat on the branch of the tree watching all of his peers fly without a care in the world, he wishes to be that free. Sometimes, he watches his friend's stream and watches how they seem to flourish without him. He wonders if it was better this way.</span> <span>The sound of his phone ringing cuts through the silence, the Able Sisters' theme played in his room. </span></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>Incoming call from Tubbo...</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He lets it ring twice before he moves his fingers to answer. It takes a moment for either of them to talk.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Tommy?" Tubbo's voice rings out, he sounds a bit taken aback. He probably didn't expect him to pick up.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Tubbo?" it's all he says, his voice comes out as strained. What could he even say to him?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hey, sorry for avoiding you I can't even get out of bed.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He mulls over the words that stay stuck in his throat and he waits for Tubbo to talk. He almost hangs up, because he really isn't ready to face him just yet, before he speaks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Tommy are you okay?" his voice is strangely soft and Tommy can tell he's trying his best to keep his frustration down. Tommy's dumbfounded by the patience the other seems to have, he knows that if the roles were reversed he wouldn't be able to contain his anger.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I..." he trails off, not knowing where to start. "I'm fine, I've just been focusing on school," he lies blatantly and he cringes at the deafening silence that floods his headphones. He knows he was lying, they </span>
  <em>
    <span>both </span>
  </em>
  <span>knew he was, but what exactly could he do? The truth was a harder reality than the lies. He almost thinks Tubbo's hung up until he talks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Are you kidding me? Tommy you've stopped talking to me for almost three months now and you wanna tell me you're fine? I need you to just stop </span>
  <em>
    <span>lying </span>
  </em>
  <span>to me," Tommy winces as his voice rises in anger. He felt a pang in his chest at his words, he didn't want to lie to him. He can't respond, guilt rises within him until he feels like he might puke. Tubbo starts talking again once he realizes he wasn't going to get a response out of him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I thought you died or something, Tommy," his voice was lowered to a whisper. It holds a silent kind of sadness that was masked but the bitter anger he felt. His voice cracks a bit at the end and Tommy hates himself for being the cause of that. "I thought something really bad happened to you."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm sorry," he's trying to keep his voice flat. He's trying not to cry. Determined tears force their way through his tightly shut eyes and he shakes his head, trying to shake off the shame that came with them. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he repeats it over and over again, working his ways through the tears he's finally allowed himself to cry. Tubbo sits in silence and waits for him to calm down, for him to give him any kind of explanation.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I've just-" he cuts himself off with a shaky breath, almost preparing himself for what he's about to say, "I've just been struggling- like a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot </span>
  </em>
  <span>lately- with my own brain I guess?" He lets out a weak laugh at the end of his sentence. It felt weird saying it out loud, the words felt foreign on his tongue and he hopes he doesn't need to specify on how.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Tommy," Tubbo starts, his tone much more gentle than before. "We could've helped you. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>could've helped you," he says, a muted sense of urgency in his voice.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I know, I just didn't want to bother you guys." Tommy waits with bated breath, he's waiting for Tubbo to tell him that he's already done enough damage, that he doesn't want to deal with him anymore. He feels like it would be a justified reaction, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>God </span>
  </em>
  <span>would it hurt.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"So you just started avoiding us instead?" Tubbo asks, a noticeable amount of bitterness in his tone. Tommy lets out a hum in agreement, distantly realizing how warped his logic was. The silence was a little less daunting now, if he closed his eyes he could pretend that he was on call with him months ago, before any of this happened. He could imagine that he was the same happy person that he was. He found that he really missed that boy.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I still wanna help you," Tubbo starts again with a lighter tone, "but you have to let me. You can't just ignore me when you feel like this," his voice is firm, Tommy knows that he can't argue with him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Okay," Tommy says, his tone matching Tubbo's. It felt as though a weight had been lifted off his shoulders and he let out a sigh of contentment. The call ends with a promise of Tommy getting better, no matter how long that took. He felt incredibly grateful to have the friends that he has, he genuinely didn't know what he'd do without him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>If Tommy was a bird, his wings might be clipped, but he knew he was meant to fly. And he sure as hell wasn't going to fall without a fight. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this started off as a vent but I'm feeling a lot better :) hope you guys enjoyed &lt;3 </p>
<p>more oneshots on the way once I find more motivation, I find it rather hard to write when I'm in a depressing mindset </p>
<p>(this is in no way shipping Tommy and Tubbo)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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